“You absolutely pulled that song out of your ass, Anderson, and don’t deny it,” Rose Wilson says, flashing a look over her shoulder at him before yanking the door to the Lima Bean open.  “My superpower is observance, and I totally observed your eyes popping out of your head in panic when Schue called on you first.”

“You have superpowers?” Brittany stares at her fellow cheerleader as she follows her inside.

“It was rambling around in the back of my mind,” Blaine replies, waving his hands around his head.  “I never just pull things out of my ass—“ He stops himself abruptly at the expression on the Cheerio’s face as she stares at him.

Rose holds up her hand a moment between them and then shakes her head.  “No, that one’s too easy.  I’m gonna let it go because you’re cute, and you’re one hell of a running back.”

Blaine lets out a quick breath of relief.  “Thank you.”

Brittany leans between them and whispers, “Why are we talking about Blaine’s ass?”

“Well, it’s not as if it’s a bad thing to talk about,” Rose says, leaning back slightly to take a look at Blaine’s backside.

Blaine feels his face flush under her scrutiny, and it only grows worse when Brittany follows her lead.  “Okay.  Enough with embarrassing Blaine.  Time for a new topic—“

“What new topic?” Tina asks, moving up behind them as she gazes at her cell phone a moment before tucking it into her messenger bag.

“We were talking about Blaine’s ass,” Brittany informs her with a smile.

“Oh, good topic.”

“Right?” Rose spreads her hands wide as she raises her eyebrows in Blaine’s direction.

“Oh my god.” Blaine pushes ahead of them with a sigh to get in line.  “You guys go grab a booth.  I’ll get our drinks.”

“Such a fine assed gentleman,” Rose purrs as she walks away with Brittany and Tina, the three of them erupting into giggles.

Rolling his eyes, Blaine pulls out his phone to text Kurt in order to ask how he has always handled hanging out with girls, and stops himself just before he can begin typing.  Oh.  Right.  He hasn’t heard back from Kurt yet.  And he knows in his message he’d said Kurt could take his time to respond but… well, Blaine has kind of been hoping Kurt would have tried to get back to him as soon as possible.  He rubs the pad of his thumb over his screen, the picture of him and Kurt laughing together staring back at him, before slipping it back into his pocket and stepping up to the counter.

“Well, hello there, stranger,” Quinn greets with a smile as she looks over at him.  “I see you brought your harem with you.”

Blaine glances over his shoulder toward the corner booth where the three girls have huddled together, looking at something on Rose’s phone.  “Rory made plans with some friend from his math class, and Aaron doesn’t drink coffee.  I practically pleaded with Artie but he said he had decisions to make regarding casting.”

“Well, you look like you’re in hell.”

“I spent two years at an all-boy’s school, Quinn.” Blaine smiles across the counter at her.  “Conversations rarely ever centered on my ass… Well, there was that one time, but Thad had too much to drink.”

Quinn’s eyes sparkle in amusement.  “I’m sure.” She turns her attention to the register.  “The usual?”

“Please.  And a skinny vanilla latte, and two non-fat caramel lattes.”

Quinn’s gaze swings to the display before returning to Blaine.  “Is that all?”

Hesitating only a moment, Blaine leans over to peer through the glass, eyes sweeping across the various pastries before he presses a finger against the display toward a tray on the second row.  “And one of those chocolate chocolate chip cookies.”

Quinn waits.

“Okay, two.”  He hands over some money, waiting as she returns his change to him. “How are classes going?”

“Good.  I think I made the right decision hitting JC this year while I try to decide what I’m really interested in.” She shrugs as she closes the register drawer. “Almost daily I find myself changing my mind.  Who knows where I’ll end up?  Go on and sit down.  We’re not very busy so I’ll bring it all over when it’s ready.”

“Thanks, Quinnie.” Blaine gives her a quick smile before making his way through the coffee shop.

“You’re just in time, B,” Rose calls out as Blaine slides into the booth beside Tina.

“Why am I terrified?”

“Aaron.  Yay or nay?” She asks, ignoring his question.

Blaine blinks at her, glancing at Tina and Brittany who are both watching him intently.  “Yay or nay what?”

“Do you consider him a hottie?  Totally doable?  Like, if you were available, and he were gay—“

“I don’t think you’re trying to be offensive, but I could be wrong,” Blaine interrupts, scowling at her.

Rose rolls her eyes at him.  “Don’t get your panties in a twist.  He’s the current topic of conversation, and if you don’t want to participate, then fine.  Boring, but fine.  Whatevs.”

Feeling a little like he might have disappointed them, Blaine glances from one face to the other before looking over at Tina.  “What was the consensus?” he asks quietly.

“Total hottie.”

“And you agree?”

It’s Tina’s turn to roll her eyes.  “Duh.  I may love Mike, Blaine, but I’m not dead.”

Blaine fidgets as he finds the girls looking at him expectantly again.  “He, uh, isn’t really my type, honestly,” he says to the apparent dismay of his friends.

“Are you crazy?”

“You can tell us the truth, Blaine.  We won’t share.”

“Are we still talking about Blaine’s ass?”

“What about Blaine’s ass?” Quinn asks Brittany as she steps up to the table and sets down their order.

Blaine is two seconds from slamming his forehead against the tabletop as he grabs his medium drip and cookies and proceeds to glare at Quinn as she settles on the edge of the seat beside Brittany on the other side of the table.  “Don’t encourage them.”  He bites into a cookie.

“Speaking of asses,” Tina begins as Blaine groans.  She leans across the table, tapping a finger at Quinn.  “What’s up with you and Puck at the Diary Queen?”

“Ugh.  We’re just friends, Tina.”

Blaine tunes out the majority of the resulting conversation, worried that if he seems too intent on what’s happening with the latest gossip between Quinn and Puck, they’ll decide to ask him if he thinks Puck’s a hottie, and he is definitely not getting drawn into that debate.  Those conversations were restricted to late night chats with Kurt, which inevitably always ended in tears of laughter as they’d tease one another over their differing tastes in men.

God, he misses Kurt.  More than he could have thought possible.  Not just Kurt his boyfriend, but Kurt his best friend, the one person in Blaine’s life who has the uncanny ability to be everything to Blaine that he needs.  Kurt gets that while Blaine has never been entirely comfortable sitting around gossiping with the girls and discussing who’s hot among the student body males, he can spend hours at a time wandering through Brooks Brothers and trying on dozens of combinations of outfits.  Kurt gets that sometimes Blaine just needs to spend hours blowing things up in video games (and the day that Blaine discovered Kurt was the biggest badass at Halo he had ever met will forever live in Blaine’s mind as one of the greatest days ever—even if he isn’t allowed to tell anyone), and that he’d rather hang out with Finn and Puck watching the game than giving one another facials with Rachel and Mercedes.

Blaine supposes that’s why he and Kurt have always clicked so well.  They’re different, there’s no denying that, but they share enough of the same interests and understanding to make it work.  Blaine loves that Kurt is one of the most amazing cooks he’s ever met—because Blaine loves to eat.  He loves the fact that while he’s a little more trendy when it comes to fashion, Kurt is far more individualized, and will tell Blaine when he needs to add a touch here or there to make an outfit more personal.  Blaine loves that Kurt introduced him to proper skin care, something which Blaine never forgets now, even when they don’t have the chance to do it together.  And he loves that while he may know a few things about cars from what he learned while working on the Chevy with his father, Kurt knows everything about cars, and behaves like its nothing; like he’s merely commenting on the weather when he tells you it sounds like you’re timing belt is going, and you really ought to get a new one.

More than anything though, Blaine loves the contradictions of Kurt, and the fact that he’s never been able to second-guess him, never been able to anticipate what he’ll do or say.  He meant it last year when he’d told Kurt he loves that he tends to zig when Blaine expects him to zag, and Blaine doubts that will ever change.  Even now when Blaine simply cannot bring himself to understand why Kurt has been so silent, as if he’s purposely withdrawing from Blaine.  If there is one thing Blaine does understand about Kurt, it’s the blanket of defensiveness he wraps around himself.  A self-imposed layer of protection borne from years of pain and rejection.  From the moment they met, Blaine has been one of the few people Kurt has allowed past that, though there are times when he has to fight a little--never pushing, always just reaching out--until Kurt drops the veneer of remoteness enough to let Blaine in, and he hopes that this is one of those times.  Those are always the best moments because deep inside, Kurt is soft and warm like fleece, and more often than not the only thing Blaine wants in the world is to wrap himself up in that, and hide away from the rest of the world forever.

The truth is, Blaine often finds himself wondering what it is that Kurt sees in him, why in the world Kurt Hummel would choose to be with Blaine Anderson, when there’s really nothing all that spectacular or interesting about him.  And it’s thoughts like that one that have made the week unbearable; that have his stomach churning with queasiness even as he tries to force down what’s usually his favorite cookie.  It’s the thought that maybe, just maybe, Kurt has finally come to the realization that Blaine isn’t good enough, or interesting enough, or worth waiting for, and that’s why they fought, that’s why Kurt seems so disinterested in anything to do with Blaine anymore.

The hurt those thoughts cause is something Blaine tries very hard to ignore, to push toward the back of his mind where he hides similar insecurities regarding how his own father feels about him.  They’re the same fears that sometimes make it difficult to get out of bed in the morning.  They aren’t always there; more often than not, Blaine considers himself to be one of the least angst-filled teenagers he knows.  It’s not as if he sits in a dark room listening to Evanescence while writing poetry about the pain life inflicts on him.  Whenever he does complain, he instantly feels guilty because honestly, so many people are worse off than him, and so what if his father has a habit of making him feel like the worst thing he’s ever done in life was making the decision to be himself?  He still has a home.  A roof over his head.  A mother who, while mostly absent, has never hidden her love for him.  A boyfriend who—

Blaine draws a breath and allows himself to rejoin the conversation at the table; Tina is recounting last year’s competition performances for Rose.  He focuses on her words for a moment, because he doesn’t want to think about Kurt right now.  Doesn’t want to think about the fact that he is counting each passing minute by the fact that he hasn’t heard back from him yet, and Blaine knows that’s the reason for his continuing spiral into teenage ridden angst this week.  He can’t be happy because one of his main forms of happiness over the past two years seems to be abandoning him.

“You okay?”

Blaine lifts his head to find Quinn scooting into the seat beside him, her hand lying gently over his arm.  He finds a smile.  “Yeah.  Just… “ When he realizes she’s waiting for him to continue, he can only bring himself to admit, “Kurt and I.  There was a… thing last night, and I’m just worried.”

Quinn’s brow furrows for a moment before she leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek. “If there is one thing I have never worried about, it’s you and Kurt.” Her fingers curl around his wrist in a light squeeze.  “But if you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

Friday morning dawns the same as the other mornings that week.  Blaine is staring at his phone when the alarm goes off; as if the longer and harder he stares, the bigger the possibility that Kurt will magically text or call through sheer force of Blaine’s will.  Disappointment floods him, and he yanks the covers over his head, turning his face into his pillow, and screams.  He feels a little better once it’s out—a little less like throwing his phone on the floor and stomping on it until only tiny pieces of it is left.  The overwhelming frustration passes as swiftly as it hit, and he sits up, running a hand through his hair as he glances toward his messenger bag.  It’s the Titans bye week, which means no game tonight.  Which also means if Kurt doesn’t call today, Blaine has the entire evening to mope.

Awesome.

Standing in the shower, face upturned into the warm water, Blaine imagines multiple scenarios leading to resolution between whatever is going on between him and Kurt.  Three of them end rather badly, and he doesn’t want to be that guy, the pessimistic one who drowns himself in Dashboard Confessional every time his boyfriend forgets to say gesundheit.  Scenario number four has Blaine using his father’s credit card to buy a flight to New York, dropping in on Rachel and Kurt’s doorstop, and begging—on his knees—for Kurt to forgive him for being a childish brat and never, ever make him feel this worried again.  The fifth scenario is ridiculously sunny and optimistic, and the least likely of all four, involving red roses and candy from Kurt along with a flowery and poetic apology written in Kurt’s looping, and sometimes difficult to read, script.  It would be waiting for Blaine when he got home that afternoon, along with a promise to spend the entire night on Skype repeating I love you to one another until they passed out from exhaustion.

When Blaine dreams, he dreams big.

There are two messages from Tina when he wanders back into his bedroom, rubbing a towel over his curls while scratching at an itch just about the waistband of his boxer briefs.

From: T (1/2)
Dress choice: yellow or pink?

From: T (2/2)
Do u think we should bring Artie donuts or something this am?

Grinning, Blaine texts back quickly as he moves over to his closet.

To: T
Not yellow.  Besides, you’re pretty in pink.  Don’t think bribery works w/Artie. & he doesn’t like donuts.

He’s debating between the black or red polo when he receives her response.

From: T (1/1)
Now I have that song stuck in my head. You know I hate the ‘80’s!!

To: T
Bite your tongue!

By the time Blaine makes it downstairs he and Tina have discussed their own choices for the cast list, what the mystery meat will be in the cafeteria that day, whether or not they could pull off Trick or Treating next month, and who has the biggest dick—Chris Hemsworth or Chris Evans.  He texts that he’ll see her in English as he reaches the bottom step before tucking his phone into his pocket and lifting his head, sniffing the air with a small frown.

Coffee.  Ridiculously strong with two too many scoops.  The familiar tightness settles in his stomach and Blaine draws in a breath as he rounds the corner into the kitchen, forcing a cheerful smile to his face.

“Morning!” He calls out to his father, who’s sitting at the breakfast bar with gaze trained on a copy of the New York Times.  Blaine hears a brief grunt in return as he pulls the refrigerator open, glancing over the shelves before grabbing the carton of milk.

There’s silence as he pulls a glass from the cupboard and pours himself a glass before returning the milk to the refrigerator.  Blaine takes a small sip, gaze flickering toward his father as he searches for something to say.  It wasn’t always like this, of course, not before.  Not when Blaine had simply been Robert Anderson’s youngest son, when they used to toss a football or grill hamburgers in the backyard, and plan camping trips that inevitably ended with Blaine or Cooper, or sometimes both of them covered in hives from poison ivy.  

Until one day when it all just… stopped.

Blaine’s mother says he’s imagining things; that he’s making it out to be worse than it really is, and he just needs to give his father more time.  Except it’s been over four years now, and his father still can’t seem to look him in the eye for more than a second at a time, and rarely have they ever had conversation that lasted for more than a few minutes.

“Mom at work?” he finally asks, licking the milk from the top of his lip before setting his glass down in search of Pop Tarts.

“Mmm.  Meeting in Pittsburgh.  She’ll be back Sunday.”

Blaine chews on the inside of his cheek as he stares at the Pop Tarts warming inside the toaster.  He knows his father well enough to realize he likely won’t be around much, either.  His work as legal counsel for Kaiser Permanente takes him away a lot, not only in Ohio but to other locations in the country as well.  And sometimes, Blaine’s fairly certain, Robert Anderson makes up excuses to be out of the house.

“Game tonight?”

Blaine looks up quickly at the question.  “No.  Ummm, bye week.” As his father drops his gaze back to the paper, Blaine adds, “Home game next week, though.  Will you, uh, think you’ll be able to attend?”

“Probably.  How’s the team doing?” His father lays the paper back down and reaches out for his coffee as he glances over at Blaine.

“Three and one,” Blaine says with a smile, ignoring his Pop Tarts to step closer to the breakfast bar, leaning forward on the counter with his elbows.  “The Indians lucked out on a bad call from the refs.  Coach Beiste said he was apparently the brother-in-law to their coach or something?” He shrugs and rolls his eyes a bit.

“You doing okay out there?”

Blaine’s a little surprised at the question; touched, if he were perfectly honest with himself.  A little voice warns him his father’s only asking such a thing in case Blaine’s high school football career is destined to be a very short one.  “Yeah. I’m good.  I mean, it’s not like I’m out there trying to get tackled.  The point is to make it to the end zone before that happens, right?” He smiles.

Blaine’s father shrugs as he sips at his coffee and glances toward the paper again.  “You haven’t exactly been involved in many contact sports in the last few years, Blaine.”

It’s difficult not the wince at that.  When the toaster dings, Blaine turns away from his father to grab the heated pastries, wrapping them in a paper towel to eat on the way to school.  He knows he should let his father’s comment go, but he spins back around and replies, “Polo wasn’t exactly knitting, Dad.  Nor was fencing.  Or self-defense class or—you know what?  Forget it.  Whatever.  My week’s been crappy enough as it is without getting into this debate with you again.”

“No one was debating anything, Blaine.  I was simply pointing out a fact.” His father snapped the paper shut before sliding off the stool.  “You’re the one who enjoys twisting my words to make yourself out to be the victim.”

Blaine stares, silent and a bit regretful as his father carries his coffee cup over to the sink to wash it out, and then leaves without another word.

To: Rachel
I left Kurt a message last night but haven’t heard back. I don’t know if you’re up to date but... could you let me know if he’s okay?

From: Rachel (1/1)
I think he just needs time.  You know Kurt. I’m very certain you’ll hear from him soon! I promise! <333 ~RB